The Alignment of Certain Stars
by White Elk
Summary: A few months after the Chesapeake, Clarice is lost. However, there remains one man who will never give up on her... Picks up where the movie left off. My first and only fanfic, and the ending I wished for Clarice and Hannibal. Enjoy.
1. Clarice

It has been three long, dragging months since the events that occurred on the Chesapeake Bay, yet the life of Clarice Starling has remained much unchanged. Or, at least concerning her so-called career with the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

At the moment, we find Agent Starling working in a dusky, obscure basement, bent over the endless piles of paperwork that her superiors have reduced her to as punishment for Paul Krendler's recent lobotomy and the second disgraceful escape of Dr. Hannibal Lecter, M.D.

The heavyweights at the Bureau held a hearing shortly after the events at the Chesapeake to determine the fate of Agent Starling and her career with the FBI. The obvious dispute was whether Clarice deserved a second chance with the Bureau and whether she should be allowed to stay. The less obvious question was whether there was any way for the FBI to get around it. The majority of the male-dominated panel had clearly wanted to do away with Starling for good, thus cleansing the Bureau of its "loose cannon" and media celebrity. The National Tattler had jumped at the chance to slander the Bureau's disgrace in its headlines, while highlighting Clarice's relationship with Lecter. The newspaper had taken advantage of Clarice's plight time and again, claiming in its ridiculous articles that she had, in fact, allowed Hannibal Lecter to escape the grasp of the authorities once again, due to their so-called "Beauty and the Beast" affair.

After much debate, the panel decided that the better way to punish Clarice for their public degradation was to exile her to the darkened basement office, as if trying to hide the source of the Bureau's scandal from public view. It was as if Clarice had a fatal disease that the FBI was trying to contain or quarantine; no one wanted to be associated with the female agent who, albeit had a successful start to her career, had slowly lost her momentum and began to plummet to the earth (much like a roller pigeon tends to do.) The Bureau was ashamed of Clarice Starling, and it didn't care whether she knew it or not. As far as they were concerned, Starling's career with the FBI had met its demise the second the headlines hit the newsstands.

Now, Clarice is left alone in her hidden office, far away from the world of the living and prosperous careers on the floors above her. The death of her own career was inevitable, yet the bitter loss weighs on her heavily.

Her life has become fairly routine. She spends her days at the office, slaving over unimportant and frivolous paperwork. She goes running as much as possible, most likely more than she should. For Clarice Starling, the world feels the most stable under her feet when she is racing down the wooded park trails, hidden from the stigma of her ill-fated career and the uncertainty of her future. She is undeniably lonely, but would never admit it to anyone. In all senses, Clarice Starling is lost and dead to the world.

However, there remains one man who can see her for all that she is, and all of her potential to have a second chance. And simply put, he refuses to ever give up on her.


	2. Reflection and Denial

It is a Friday evening, and Clarice Starling is running down the paths of the woods. October in Arlington is lovely; the weather has not yet left the summer temperatures, and the air still feels balmy yet cool.

The day at the office had been particularly excruciating. Pearsall, who had remained Clarice's supervisor through the entirety of her fall from grace at the Bureau, had left an even larger pile of papers and assignments than normal sitting on her desk, waiting to greet her that morning. As Clarice sat working all day, she wondered whether her place at the FBI was really worth all of the degrading assignments and dirty looks that she received in the office. She couldn't help becoming bitter and resentful of her situation. _Where the hell has all the meaning and importance in my life gone? Out the God-damned window, that's where_, she thought, as she shuffled papers around and prepared to head home for the day.

Now Clarice ran from all of her pain and regret in the solace of the quiet woods. But she was noticing that lately it was becoming increasingly difficult to find any sort of peace at all. Of course, there was her trouble and discontentment at work that could not be ignored. She felt that she was losing herself. For her, the FBI had always defined who she was, and now that her career had been reduced to something insignificant, she too felt as if she had somehow become worthless.

But something else plagued and pulled at her. Clarice had not slept soundly since that ill-fated night on the Chesapeake, when she had last parted with Dr. Lecter. The image of Paul Krendler consuming his own brain, although he was her greatest enemy, still managed to bring tears to her eyes and a grinding feeling to her stomach. But what staggered her the most was Lecter. What had passed between Hannibal Lecter and herself had emotionally overwhelmed her, comforted her, and burned her deeply, all at the same time.

Clarice remembered the barn at the Verger Estate. The smell of the pigs mixed with mud and summer air still singed her nostrils whenever she recalled that night. And then there was Dr. Lecter. The fact that she was unable to allow Mason to murder Lecter deeply disturbed her. She desperately tried to convince herself that any respectable agent, or human being for that matter, would have rushed into that barn as well and would have saved him from being tortured to death. What she had done was a result of her unwavering sense of right and wrong.

But the "reunion" with Dr. Lecter had come almost as a relief to her. Finally, here was the man who she had stalked and hunted for the past year, who she had so desperately wanted to find but hoped that she never would. Lecter, on one hand, was Clarice's greatest nemesis. She felt that her entire relationship with him had brought her more pain and resentment from others than anything else. Their obvious connection had stunted her career's growth and hampered her future with the Bureau. He was the constant burden in her life; the demon who had managed to crawl into her mind and hibernate there, rearing his ugly head in her thoughts more often then she would have cared to admit.

On the other hand, Clarice could not ignore the undeniable comfort that Lecter brought her, much to her dismay and disgust. The terrible bond that had been forged between them so many years ago seemed to have only deepened over time. He had left his brand on her, and what was worse: they both knew it. He was the only person who had ever truly seen who she was and had understood her, and maybe even respected her. The letters, advice, and attention that he gave her helped to fill the void of human compassion in her life. Clarice had always been an agent, first and foremost. But a part of her was kicking and screaming for personal respect and empathy. Clarice was only human with basic human needs, but because she repressed and denied these needs, she was entirely alone. She refused to accept that she needed anyone else, and always put the Bureau ahead of herself. Dr. Lecter gave her the praise and empathy that she so desperately craved. She was both angered and terrified at the thought that the only person in the world who remotely cared for her was a cannibalistic murderer of eleven (or so that the Bureau knew of, anyway).

She had always questioned Dr. Lecter's feelings towards her. She knew that she generally interested and amused him. After listening to her taped conversations with him from Baltimore years ago, she remembered how he had toyed and played with her, testing her and developing an interest in who she was. But the night on the Chesapeake had left her dazed and confused. What struck her the most was that Lecter had saved her from death at the Verger Estate, from the pigs in the barn. Clarice knew that Lecter would never kill her himself, simply because he said he would not, and she knew he wouldn't lie; the Doctor despised dishonesty. There was the possibility that he was returning the favor, since Clarice had saved him from the grasps of Mason's plans for revenge. But then, after saving her, he had actually taken the time to care for her and treat her wounds with the utmost attention. He organized an entire dinner for her and had even "disposed" of Paul Krendler because he knew that her morals prevented her from ever doing so herself. He told her that she didn't need the FBI to realize what potential and strength she possessed; that all she needed was a mirror to remind herself of her incorruptible morals, and what it was about her that set her above the rest.

The dinner left her beyond confused. She felt so conflicted; here was the man who knew her better than anyone and could be brutally honest about her shortcomings. On the other hand, she had never felt so admired or respected by someone. And then there were those haunting words:

"Tell me, Clarice, would you ever say to me 'Stop - If you loved me, you'd stop' ?"

Clarice had always thought that Lecter's strange feelings of affection towards her were just a mere infatuation. However, all of the facts led her to believe otherwise: the dinner in her honor, the kind words he said about her incorruptibility, and now this hint that the feelings between them amounted to love - it was all just too much to take.

And then he kissed her.

Clarice had trembled under his touch. The intoxicating smell of his cologne and the feeling of his body pressing into hers didn't disgust her as much as she would have thought it would; on the contrary, actually. As if on instinct, Clarice had taken the cuffs and trapped him, remaining true to her duties as she felt she had to. But was it her duties that compelled her to keep him from leaving, or was it something else?

They both knew neither one would give in and forfeit the twisted little game they had created. What happened next made her stomach turn, as she remembered what he did. Unwilling to give up his freedom under any circumstances, Dr. Lecter chopped off his own thumb, instead of harming Clarice. It was obvious to them both then that he, a murderer, could not and would never be able to hurt her. The knowledge of this produced a wave of emotion that climbed up and down her spine.

And once again, Dr. Hannibal Lecter had eluded the clutches of the FBI and was long gone. And Clarice was furious that she had allowed him to escape; his arrest would have been her one shot at redemption with the FBI. She hadn't even used her gun against him. Dr. Lecter had even left it sitting on the table in the hall in plain sight, as if daring her to use it. Yet she hadn't. While Dr. Lecter could never harm Clarice, she in turn would also never be able to harm him. It had become glaringly obvious that their feelings towards each other were more than just a mutual respect. The thought was more than she could bear.

So now, Clarice ran. She ran from her loneliness, her doomed career, her denial and her suppressed feelings that would never find release. And she ran from the memory of the only man who ever made her feel like her life made sense at all. But she quickly shook those thoughts out of her head; the ideas that her father had drilled into her as being right and wrong were too deeply ingrained in her.

Yet in the fall foliage, two bright eyes clung to the figure of Clarice Starling in the distance, following her image as she sprinted down the silent paths of the woods. Hannibal Lecter watched her run, and decided that perhaps it would soon be time to pay Starling another long-anticipated visit.


	3. The Doctor in Washington

Dr. Lecter found his way back to the silver Jaguar, concealed in a secluded parking lot in the back of the park. He wore a white fedora, and as he walked the tail of his charcoal Armani trench coat flapped out behind him and then snapped back, slicing the cool fall air.

He drove out of the park, passing Starling's Mustang in the parking lot near the entrance. He made his way back into the downtown Washington D.C., and the phrase "the belly of the beast" entered his mind as he drove past the J. Edgar Hoover building on Pennsylvania Avenue. He smiled to himself, a sight that would have frightened many.

He reached the Four Seasons Hotel and checked in under his registered and assumed name, Dr. Allister Stuart. A porter helped him cart his luggage onto the elevator and up to his suite on the top floor. Once inside, Lecter left his coat and hat hanging on a chair and strolled over to the large panoramic window, overlooking the city.

It has been three months since Dr. Lecter has visited Washington. He has recently been spending his time away from public view, in order to re-gather himself after the complications he encountered with Clarice Starling on the Chesapeake Bay. The dismembering of his thumb was an unexpected and regretful turn of events. Yet after he meticulously stitched the thumb back into place with an expert hand and spent the next three months working to strengthen the finger, he was soon able to use it almost as well as before. When he played the piano there were always a few lagging notes where the thumb was not quite able to reach the next key quickly enough, but Dr. Lecter was generally pleased with its progress. Most doctors would have considered his case nothing short of a miracle. Dr. Lecter wasn't the type of man to believe in such a thing as miracles.

And now he had returned to finish what he had started. He walked over to the hotel room's small kitchen, opened the refrigerator and poured himself a glass of Batard-Montrachet. He sipped and savored the wine, tilting his head back and allowing his eyes to close shut.

There was hope for Starling. And if there was hope for her, then there was hope for himself, as well.

He had never needed anyone as a companion. He had rejected the ways of society, and in return, society had condemned him for his actions; fair enough. But here was a woman so pure, so worthy, that he had never desired anything more. He was a man of impeccable tastes, and he had never denied himself anything. But Clarice Starling, the one thing he wanted most, was the one thing that he, himself, could not bring into his own possession. That, undoubtedly, was up to her.

He could easily control her, but only to a certain degree. And even if he had any power over her, he would never be able to completely possess her because of her incredible unpredictability. It was one of the things about her that never ceased to amaze him. However, if he could bring her under his sphere of influence for at least a short while, maybe she would listen and be able to understand the truth of the matter. Lecter, however, had decided that Starling would never accompany him until she made the full-hearted decision to do so on her own terms. Her strength of morals was one of the qualities that he respected most about her. All he wanted was to make her _see._ He wanted her to see what she truly was, in all her worthiness, and what she could do with her life, outside of the Bureau. He wanted to show her what he saw in her and what she could be, with him.

A recent visit to the hospital took care of a few pharmaceutical needs, and a few other minor preparations had set Dr. Lecter's final arrangements in order. The Doctor walked over to the stereo system and turned it on. He sipped his wine as the delicate notes of Pachelbel's Canon in D filled the air. Yes, it would soon be time to bring Starling out of the darkness and to enlighten her, and open her eyes up to the world. Soon, very soon, Clarice Starling would be at his side


	4. Capture

It was another evening, falling into the category of many, on which Clarice had chosen to go running. The weather was her favorite. The skies were grey, and the air was damp and held a hint of rain. She sprinted down the trails, filling her lungs blissfully with the cool fall air.

Now Clarice was returning home. As her Mustang pulled into her driveway, the sight of her darkened and empty house made something inside her sink. She hated this; having to come back to a neglected and lonely house that could hardly be called a home. It only served to emphasize the hollow, gnawing feeling of emptiness inside of her.

She tossed her keys onto the table in the front hall and un-strapped her gun holster. The incessant, blinking red light on her answering machine demanded that she check her messages; the first one was from Ardelia, who was living in upstate New York with her husband and wanted Clarice to call her so they could "catch up" on things. In all honesty, Clarice felt guilty for neglecting their friendship. The two old roommates had not spoken in almost a year. Yet Clarice envied her for her success at the Bureau, and now for her successful marriage as well. She saw everyone moving forward and advancing in life, while she was left behind.

The second call came from Pearsall, saying that he needed some information about one of the reports he'd left for her that morning and that she should call him when she got a chance.

"So what am I now, the God-damned office girl?" She said it out loud but was quickly requited with a flashback, as Paul Krendler's voice echoed through her head.

_"Come around campaign headquarters. You could be a office girl! Can you type and file? Can you take dictation?"_

The memory made her shudder, and she shoved it away from her thoughts and locked it up in the back of her mind, where she kept hidden all of her memories from that night. She walked into the kitchen, dismayed at the thought of food. She was far from being in the mood to eat. She opened the fridge and found it to be next to empty. "Fuck it," she said, and headed upstairs towards her bedroom.

Entering her bathroom, she stripped herself of her clothes and climbed into the shower, turning on the steaming water to full blast. Pushing unwanted thoughts from her mind, she focused on scrubbing herself clean, so vigorously to the point that her skin turned a deep red.

Clarice got out, toweled herself dry, and threw on her bathrobe. Glancing out the window, she realized that it was now well late into the night and the sky had gone completely dark. The man in the moon stood out so vividly that it seemed as if it was watching her, or maybe even judging. She recalled the things her father had told her as a child. One night, they had laid out in the field behind their house on a blanket, and the two of them had stayed up late into the night to look at the stars and watch them move across the sky, as the night grew late. Her father pointed out the constellations and told her about how the man in the moon was real, and that he lived in the moon and watched over everyone every night as they slept. They had talked and laughed all night, and Clarice remembered feeling very special that he'd allowed her to stay up so late. The memory felt sentimental and fragile, and she tucked the lingering image of her father away in a safe, hidden place, hoping that she would never forget it.

She left the bathroom and opened the door, only to find her bedroom to be lit in soft candlelight. A single white rose lay on the down comforter of her bed, and the candles cast wandering shadows across the walls. Normally, Clarice's bedroom was a bit boring…dull, even. The walls were a cream color, the bed comforter was lavender, and the dressers and nightstand were the typical, tan-colored wood that is used to make up most cheap and characterless bedroom furniture. But with the candles and the rose, and some other familiar scent that Clarice identified at once (L'Air du Temps…?) the room had become almost dreamlike and romantic. She immediately tried to think of where her gun was, but her heart sank when she remembered she'd left it lying on the table in the front hall, in plain view for whoever was in her home... even though she had no doubts as to who it was.

She began to edge down the stairs, hoping she could soundlessly make it to the phone on the table in the hall, and her gun if it had not yet been taken. Upon reaching the table, however, she found the Colt .40 to be missing, and the phone line to be cut dead. Just as she was placing the receiver back on the hook, strong arms came from behind her and lifted her, backing her up against the wall and knocking the phone and table to the floor where they fell with a loud crash. And when she was spun around and forced to look up, Clarice found herself face to face with Dr. Hannibal Lecter himself. A rush of adrenaline came over her, yet she found that she could not stand without the support of the wall behind her.

"Good evening, Clarice. Are we ordering for take-out, or are we perhaps making a social call to your friends at the Bureau?"

Even in the darkness, the maroon in Lecter's eyes swam through the blackness, and all she could manage to say was, "Dr. Lecter."

"If you were planning to call the Bureau, then I regret to inform you that all phone lines in the house have been severed." His eyes glittered now, and the thrill of the game was reflected in the swirling darkness of his eyes.

"What are you doing here, Doctor?"

"Ah, such a warm welcome. I must commend you for your hospitality skills Clarice, they are truly first rate." He was pleased with the flustered effect that his proximity was having on her. "I've come to pay you a visit, to look in on your health and see how you are. Although I knew you would never abandon your loyalties to the Bureau, hence the seizure of firearms, I had hoped that at least for a short time we might be able to sit down and have a simple discussion, and you could tell me a bit about your current situation at the Bureau. Would that be at all possible? It would be rather unfortunate if I had to use force," he hissed, using his strength to crush her further against the wall.

"You've never been afraid to before, what stops you now?" She glared back at him.

He relented and lessened his hold on her, leaning back to look at her. "You should know by now that I have no intention of harming you. However, in the event that I need to make some sort of sacrifice to keep my freedom, I cannot make any promises. Now, is it safe to let you go, or are you going to try to attack me again with another candlestick?" He said, recalling her method of assault at the lake house. His eyes glinted with amusement.

"I won't if you won't."

"No attacking anyone on my part, you have my word." He held up his hands in mock innocence.

"I took the liberty of preparing a meal for us, since you have little to no food in your house. I must insist that you do try to take better care of yourself, my dear." He led her into the kitchen, where a pot was steaming on the stove and something was cooking in the oven. "And Pop-Tarts, Clarice? I'm appalled, really." His eyes twinkled as he watched her become agitated.

"Well, I would do more shopping, if I had the time," she said, begrudgingly.

"So I take it that the Bureau is running you ragged, so to speak? A lot of paper pushing and long hours, Clarice? And tell me, how does that suit you?"

"So is that why you're here? To sit back and gloat in the glory of my downfall? Even if my station at the Bureau has been demoted, do not make the mistake of thinking that I've given up on my duties."

"Oh Clarice, don't think that I don't know just how great of a danger you are to me. I fully understand that, given the chance, you would instantaneously hand me over to your precious F-B-I at any moment if it meant they'd restore you to your previous status." He took the time and made a point to enunciate each letter. "But I must say, I felt that the abrupt and rather unfortunate conclusion to our recent dinner was less than satisfactory. Not to worry, Clarice, my injury has been taken care of is healing just fine, I assure you." He had noticed her eyeing the scar that left a faint line running between his thumb and the rest of his left hand, as he moved about the kitchen while preparing their meal.

Clarice swallowed and watched his movements. She didn't even want to guess how the Doctor seemed to know exactly where everything was stored in her kitchen; he acted as if the cupboards were as familiar to him as his own. He moved about as gracefully as a cat, never missing a beat, and Clarice became transfixed while watching him. However, red flags went up in the back of her head, and she tried to predict what was being cooked on the stove and in the oven. "Doctor, what are you making?"

The doctor glanced at her, amused. "Nothing that you would deem un-edible, I promise you." He prepared the food for them and set the plates on the table: Couscous mixed with tomatoes, pine nuts, and pesto, and oven-roasted chicken with glazed onions and peppers. He poured two glasses of Chateaû d'Yquem and then joined her at the table.

Clarice, not having eaten since her granola bar that morning, was starving and ate the food quickly; inevitably, she found it to be delicious. Halfway through the meal she realized that the Doctor had not touched his plate, and was content to sit back in his chair with his wine and simply watch her. She slowly set her fork down and fidgeted self-consciously. "I haven't eaten much of anything today."

"I aim to please, Clarice. I'm glad to see you enjoying your meal." He continued to gaze at her from across the table, and Clarice wondered for how long he had been in D.C., watching her.

"It seems as of late that the Bureau has been giving you a rather difficult time. Any thoughts as to why?"

"Well, clearly your escape didn't help me all that much. They all despise me, and I've never done anything to deserve it. The only reason they can't stand me is because of you. And now you've come back to watch and enjoy my suffering? Do you really have nothing better to do than find amusement in the pain of others?" Her eyes accused him, as she pushed her plate away, showing her disgust.

"Perhaps your life would ameliorate itself, Clarice, if you handed in your final resignation forms."

"And you would love that, wouldn't you? Driving the final nail into my coffin, and you would stand by and watch it all happen."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Tell me, do you truly believe that I find such a measure of happiness in your suffering? Quite frankly, my dear, as of late I find your life to be quite tedious. The same games of bureaucracy at the office and a lack of a social life doesn't make for a very interesting subject. It's tiresome, Clarice."

"Alright, well then if I'm so boring to you, then what was your purpose of coming here? To analyze me some more? Or have you just come to remind me that my career is ending?"

She was aggravating him, and she knew it. His eyes flashed as he stood from his chair and began circling the table towards her. "I think that perhaps you've mistaken my meaning, Clarice."

Clarice's heart was racing as she stood and began backing up into the wall. "Well then, please set me straight and tell me why you're here, Doctor. You did always love to point out where I made a mistake," she bit back at him.

Amazed that she was continuing to challenge him, he grabbed her by her shoulders and shoved her back to the wall, leaning in so close to her that she could feel every breath that he exhaled. "Clarice, if you refuse to save yourself from the wolves, you will waste away to nothing in that faithless agency. Your very essence and strength, they will dwindle and rot away in that basement office, until your very drive and determination will fade away forever. Do you understand this, Clarice?" He almost shook her with his intensity, as he searched her face for recognition.

"So, what do you care? Since when did my welfare ever interest you?" She spat back at him.

He retaliated by pushing her further against the wall, as he hissed into her ear. "You're welfare interests me far more than I think you know." He leaned back and looked penetratingly into her eyes. "And I refuse to leave you here for the FBI to smother you, Clarice. It simply will not happen. I'm going to help you escape them, whether you want to or not. I'm going to make you see yourself for all that you are. Now, little Starling, you will run with _me_."

Lost in his words and the swirling pinwheels of his eyes, Clarice barely felt the sting of the needle as it pierced her arm.

Moments later, Special Agent Clarice Starling was carried out the backdoor of her own home by Dr. Hannibal Lecter. No one noticed as a black Jaguar revved its engine and sped out of her street that evening and into the darkness of the October night.


	5. An Interlude

He watched her sleep, with meticulous and unwavering attention. He found it difficult to leave her side since he had brought her to his home. The drive there had been long and tiring, but with extensive injections of minor sleeping drugs, the Doctor had managed to keep Clarice unconscious throughout the nine hour drive. The house was hidden in the woods, bordering on the Hudson River. Dr. Lecter found it to be the perfect location for his impromptu home, since it was obscure and hidden away from the prying eye but only an hour's drive North from the sophisticated culture of New York City. However, he had not left the house for two days, and would not for some time.

Although the epitome of calm during their reunion at her home, behind his façade he had been deeply alarmed upon seeing how enraged and bitter she had become. He hoped it wasn't too late to salvage and repair the pieces of her that the Bureau had degraded. There was so much potential there, so much life within her, that all he could do was hope that the FBI had not completely wasted her. The thought of it alone drove him to insane rage and anger. He wanted to seek out those who had harmed her, but knew that it would be impossible; Clarice possessed something that none of them ever had, and that made her colleagues at the Bureau so bitter that they were determined to strip her of whatever it was that made her better than them. Dr. Lecter wanted to hurt them, wanted revenge; but looking down at Clarice's soft face resting on the pillow where she remained unconscious, he pushed aside a stray strand of crimson hair that had fallen over her eyes and traced the line of her cheekbone. _There are more pressing matters to attend to; there will be time for that later. _

He tilted his head to the side as he scrutinized her. For now, he was content to sit and watch her breathe, as her chest fell up and down, in perfect, even rhythm. He was lost in her, yet wasn't even within two feet of her as he sat back in his chair, his hands steepled and resting underneath his chin. Soon she would wake, and he had a few preparations to finish undertaking before he was quite ready for her to join him. He rose from the chair and slowly turned towards the door, taking in the sight of her once more before he left to put the rest of his affairs in order. With one last glance to insure that all was well, he turned and left her to prepare the rest of the house for her arrival.

As the door closed silently behind him, Clarice's eyes fluttered open.

Top of Form

Bottom of Form


	6. An Altered Reality

Clarice felt a light breeze touch her face. The after-effects of the drugs left her feeling heavy and dazed as she tried to prop herself up on her elbows and take in her surroundings. She found herself lying in a queen-sized, rather comfortable bed, and was covered with a large, white down comforter. A canopy of thin, white silk hung above her, and white, lace curtains fluttered in the breeze from the open doorway of a balcony on her left.

Too dizzy to remain sitting up, she laid her head back down and shut her eyes tight, trying to recall what had happened. She remembered Dr. Lecter coming into her home.Then she remembered him cooking for her, and them talking. And then she racked her brain and tried to remember the words that he'd whispered to her. _God damnit, what was it he'd said?_

_"I'm going to make you see yourself for all that you are. Now, little Starling, you will run with me."_

Clarice shuddered in the warm breeze as a chill overtook her. She tried to sit up to get out of the bed. It took her several minutes, but finally she stood shakily on her feet and slowly walked over to the balcony. She was dismayed to find the house, or at least the back of it, encased in a wall of trees and forest. All she could hear was the sound of birds and the hum of insects in the early-fall heat; no cars or trucks, or anything that would suggest a way to reach help. She racked her brain for a solution, a way of escape, but none came. Her eyes blurred, and all of a sudden she felt very light-headed. Her knees gave way, but as she was falling into a tunnel of blackness, she distantly felt two arms catch and lift her back up into the air. Then the world was completely still.

Clarice awoke later, once again lying safely in the white bed, and found her head to feel far less clouded. Upon opening her eyes, she found Dr. Lecter sitting in an armchair next to her bed, his hands quietly folded in his lap.

"Well, Clarice, how are you feeling? Any nausea?" He asked as if it was an inquiry to the weather; to her, it seemed as if everything he did was careless and nonchalant.

"No. I feel a bit better."

"Any dizziness? Fatigue?"

"Fatigue rings a bell; then again, who in hell knows what drugs you've been giving me, so I guess that's to be expected, right?"

He looked at her expression and didn't reply; he had expected this aggression. "Hmm," was all he murmured, as he lifted a small tool from the night table next to the bed. "Excuse me Clarice, this will only take a moment," he said, and he lifted her eyelids to check her pupils. "As I expected, all is well. And please forgive me for my administrations, but it was simple fact that you would never come with me willingly, so I'm afraid I had to find other means to… make you comply. I hope you will not be too angry with me," he added. He sat back down in the chair, playing with the small flashlight, rolling it between his fingers and gazing at her with an unreadable expression. Clarice thought, _his eyes are the same as a cat's._

"Whichever way you put it, Doctor, you took me in the middle of the night, from my own home, so I think I have every right to be a bit annoyed. And as for the rest, I don't understand why I'm here, so I think I at least deserve some sort of explanation."

"Fair enough, Clarice. I agree that you deserve some clarification, and perhaps a few formalities and guidelines can be thrown in as well, while we're at it. I hope we can both follow them, as long as we are both here together," he added, as he stood, leaving the flashlight on the table and turning to face her. He demanded attention, this man; it seemed that with even the slightest flick of a wrist, he could make the entire earth move.

"Clarice, I've brought you here, albeit without your approval, because I feel that it is time for you to break away from the FBI and from the world of Special Agent Clarice Starling. I understand that I am admittedly keeping you here without your permission, but I highly doubt that you would ever stay here with me out of your own free will. Hence the secluded location. There is no possible way for you to run far enough, or scream loud enough, to bring to you any means of help, whatsoever, Clarice." Here, he stopped for a pause while he gauged her reaction.

"But while you are here, you are not a prisoner by any means; on the contrary, you are my guest, and my home is your home, for as long as I feel that you need to remain here. Once I can see that you've learned what I will try to teach you, only then will I allow you to leave. After that, you will never have to be visited by me again, Clarice, it is a promise."

His eyes darkened as he looked down at her, but other than that his face was completely unreadable. Clarice shivered. "And what exactly is it, Doctor, that you hope to teach me?"

He looked at her as he seated himself back in the armchair, crossing his legs and folding his hands across his knee. "Only how to become enlightened, my dear. I'm going to illuminate your world for you, Clarice; I'll lighten the darkest corners of yourself that you'd forgotten had ever existed. I'll give you time away from your career and the ruin that has become your life, for you to simply live. It is high time that you were given a chance to do so, I believe."

"And are you going to keep drugging me, or will I have to fight you every time you try to stick that needle in me?" She nodded to the tray of syringes lying next to the bed, and was rewarded with deep laughter of amusement.

"No, no, I doubt your self-defense tactics will be needed here. I don't plan on giving you any more medications in the near future." He got up and moved towards the bed, looking down at her. "But of course, if you turn out to be entirely disobedient, I'm sure there are many other means by which I could subdue you," he added. The innuendo dripped in the air, as he reached for her hand and gently placed a kiss there, never letting his eyes leave hers. A wave of heat rippled through her body. Just as quickly as it came, it left her as he dropped her hand and stood, a hint of a smile reaching the corners of his mouth.

"I'm sure you'd like get cleaned up, Clarice. There is an adequate bathroom off to your right that I hope you will make use of. And I hope you don't mind, but I also took the liberty of purchasing a few things for you; you'll find it all in the dresser, if you wish to make use of any of it."

"'I took the liberty' should be your middle name," she said with chagrin. He winked at her in response.

"Once you're ready, then, please meet me downstairs in the study, and I'd be delighted to give you a tour." He turned and left her to herself to do as she pleased. She watched the door shut behind him.

Clarice moved to test her legs, finding that she could stand without feeling dizzy and nauseas as she had before. She stood and wandered around the room, looking at all the shelves and dressers. She found the bookshelves filled with copies of Dante's La Vita Nuova, Writings of Virgil, and essays by Marcus Aurelius. _Well, so long to John Grisham novels, _ she thought as she smiled at his flawless taste in literature.

She went into the bathroom and found it to be far more than "adequate," as the doctor had lightly put it. The countertops were made of white marble and had large golden sinks and faucets. There was a large Jacuzzi-sized bathtub, and a large, spacious white-marble shower next to it. On the marble countertop was an arrangement of unwrapped soaps and unopened bottles of bubble bath, shampoo, and perfumes, all with Italian labels on them that Clarice couldn't read. She spent nearly ten minutes opening all of them and smelling each one to find out what they were. Finally, she chose vanilla bubble bath, and turned on the golden faucets to fill the bathtub. She was almost surprised at herself for choosing to take a bath instead of a shower, but she attributed this to her lack of pampering and luxury in her normal lifestyle; even if she was in the company of a man that was being hunted by the FBI, she might as well enjoy the benefits.

Sinking into the vanilla bubbles, she laid her head back and closed her eyes. Taking a bubble bath was also a good way to give her more time before she had to go downstairs and face Dr. Lecter. The man terrified her, but not for the same reasons that he frightened the rest of the world. No, her reasons were far more unnerving than the simple fact that he was a murderer. The fact that he didn't want to kill her scared her far more than if he had actually wanted to kill her. She sunk further underneath the blanket of bubbles and tried not to think.

Finally, after a good amount of time in the bath, she got out and wrapped herself in the emerald-colored bathrobe hanging on the door. She'd forgotten about the wardrobe, so she walked over and opened the doors. Hanging there were numerous sweaters, shirts, blouses, slacks, pants, and a few evening dresses that looked expensive in their beautiful silk materials. In the drawers were socks and shoes for her, as well as silky undergarments. A smile played across her face when she found the underwear drawer. _Alright Doctor, you can have your fun, but we'll see who has the last laugh, _ she thought as she picked up a silk thong.

She dressed herself in a simple green colored sweater, slacks, and a pair of comfortable loafers. She was only mildly surprised to find that the clothes fit her perfectly. Glancing out the doorway to the balcony, she saw the sun falling behind the tops of the trees. The effect cast the room in a soft yellowish glow, and rays of sunlight played across the walls. For a moment, Clarice was lost in the calm stillness, but quickly gathered herself and walked out into the hall. She stood at the top of the stairs, preparing herself for the evening. After a few short moments she was finally ready. She took a deep breath, stepped forward, and took the plunge.

Clarice found Dr. Lecter lounging in a leather armchair in his study, reading some unknown Italian magazine. If he had heard her approaching, then he pretended he had not noticed, and looked up from his reading when she entered the room.

Clarice was still disconcerted to face Dr. Lecter without a wall of bars or glass between them. Seeing him in repose in his own home startled her and left her at a loss for words. She'd come downstairs to talk to him and perhaps further argue her situation of captivity, but under the glare of his scrutinizing gaze, she found herself to be completely mute. Instead of searching for something to say, she chose to look at the study and take in her surroundings. The wood-paneled study that she found herself in was elaborate in its décor. The room itself nearly screamed Hannibal Lecter; it was very clear to Clarice that the Doctor had decorated himself. A large mahogany desk stood in the corner, and endless rows and shelves of books lined the walls. A large Persian rug lay on the floor. At Dr. Lecter's feet, a large Great Dane reclined on the rug, but stood abruptly when Clarice entered the room, and began to walk toward her suspiciously.

"Back, Duke," he said, and the dog turned and ran back to sit next to the armchair and watch Clarice, quietly. The Doctor set his magazine down on a table and stood, taking in Clarice's image.

"I see you made use of the things I purchased you. Good choice, I might add. Love the color on you, Clarice. It suits you well." He nodded towards the deep green color of the sweater she wore, and smiled in approval.

"Thank you, Doctor, for preparing everything for me," she said, and looked self consciously at the intricate design of the rug on the floor. "But I'm not even going to ask how you knew my size for all the clothes," she added, looking up and giving him a dry smile.

He winked at her as he turned to walk towards a door leading out of the room. "Perhaps you'd like something to drink, Clarice," he said over his shoulder. Clarice followed him into the kitchen, the large dog following at her heels.

The kitchen was large and roomy, yet seemed like one of the most comfortable rooms in the entire house. Black marble countertops covered the surfaces, and tall, comfortably padded stool chairs lined the counter. Two large glass doors led out onto a garden patio.

"I regret to report to you that I am 'fresh out' of Jack Daniels." His eyes sparkled. "But I do have wine, if you're at all interested," he said, taking a chilled bottle of Chianti from the refrigerator.

She sidestepped the Jack Daniels comment. "That would be fine, thank you Doctor." She moved to sit on one of the chairs next to the countertop.

"Although," he added, "I suppose I should have known to purchase a bottle, seeing as you are my guest and seem to have acquired a bit of a dependency on it," he said, turning to face her and hand her a glass of wine. "I don't approve, Clarice," he added, taking a sip from his glass.

Immediately Clarice's defense mode kicked into gear. "I'm not dependent on alcohol, if that's what you are implying," she shot back.

"On the contrary, drinking yourself into a stupor every night would imply that you are."

She glared at him. "Why do you feel the need to point out all of my weaknesses, Doctor? Is it so we never have to focus on any of your own?"

Dr. Lecter's eyes narrowed. "Clarice, you know better than that, and you know I don't mean to antagonize. I am simply trying to help you find a solution to your current predicament."

She defiantly held his gaze. "And what exactly is my predicament?"

"You are involved in an agency that can't even stand the thought of working alongside someone as pure and ethical as you. They don't understand you, and because of that, they fear you. The amount of hierarchy within the agency is shameless enough, but while you have been cast out to stand alone in the pouring rain, your superiors and co-workers stand beneath an umbrella of bureaucracy. You, however, will never know that comfort because you will never submit to that falsehood. You will never be like them, Clarice. You will forever be different from them, and they hate you for it."

She stared in disbelief at the words he had just spoken. A tear rolled down her cheek, and she quickly turned her face away from him. Crying revealed weakness, and she'd be damned before she let Hannibal Lecter see her crying. She sat tracing the delicate stem of her wine glass, avoiding his eyes and trying desperately to hold back the tears.

Dr. Lecter stood watching her, but didn't take anything back. When she began to shake with sobs, he closed the distance between them and pulled her to him. Clarice's hands, balled into fists, rested on his chest as she tried desperately not to give in. But he held her there and quietly began stroking her hair, and reluctantly her arms slowly came up around his neck as the tears kept coming, and she sobbed uncontrollably into him. He calmed her, quietly saying "Shhh," over and over again into her ear, until she was able to breathe calmly again.

When the sobs subsided, Dr. Lecter slowly pulled away from her and looked down into her face. She looked up at him briefly and then looked away, embarrassed. She awkwardly pulled away from him, instantly putting a distance between them. "I never cry," she muttered.

"Mmm," he said, knowingly. "Federal agents never cry."

"Right." She gave him a half smile, and sat back down in her chair. "Why do you always have to be so honest?"

"You deserve the truth, Clarice. You can't see it yourself, so it becomes necessary for someone else to show you."

"It's not that I can't see it. I refuse to believe it," she mumbled, and took a long sip of wine.

"I see." He watched her, and sighed. "Well, I think that it might be time for dinner, wouldn't you agree?"

She hadn't realized how hungry she was, and nodded in agreement. "Good idea."

"Why don't you go take a look around the first floor and get acquainted with the house, while I start dinner."

The idea of getting away from his penetrating gaze was more than welcome, and Clarice nodded and quickly left the kitchen.

After a quick walk around the bottom floor, Clarice saw the living room, the dining room with the enormous oak dining table, and the large front hall. But her favorite room of them all was the library. The room itself was in the left wing of the house, situated farther back in the woods. The windows were draped in long burgundy colored curtains, and the sky outside still held the glow of the last rays of sunlight, which reflected into the room making patterns on the walls and the shelves of books. A stone fireplace and a few large armchairs made the room feel comfortably homey. Clarice chose one of Dr. Lecter's psychiatric books and perched herself on the arm of one of the chairs, while she began to flip through the pages of the book. Soon, she sunk into the armchair, got situated, and read for at least an hour before Dr. Lecter appeared at the door to inform her that their dinner was ready to be served. While following him down the hall, Clarice felt amazed at how natural it felt to be in Dr. Lecter's home. _This is just too surreal, I have to be in some kind of dream_, she kept repeating to herself.

Clarice helped Dr. Lecter set two places for them outside at the table on the garden patio. The garden itself was like nothing she had ever seen before; all of the plants were exotic, and Clarice could smell Jasmine hanging in the air. A large fountain stood in the middle of the garden, with a bronze figure of the goddess Venus spouting water in the middle. Clarice sat down in her chair and seemed to lose herself in the night and the sound of the fountain.

Dr. Lecter came out carrying their plates, and a box of matches. He lit the two tall candlesticks in the middle of the table, and Clarice noticed that as the wick of the candles ignited, the dancing flames were reflected in the light of his eyes. Dr. Lecter poured himself another glass of wine and then seated himself at the table.

For the rest of the evening, Lecter decided to let her off the hook and avoid the heavier subjects, while keeping the conversation light and casual. T hey talked together about books that they were reading, and their opinions of different authors and literature. Occasionally, he would tease or mock her taste, or cast out a sarcastic comment, just so he could watch her become agitated. However, the Doctor was delighted to find that Clarice would bite back with venom, and always had a quick-witted remark to fire back in return.

"Dan Brown is a pathetic excuse for an author, and although his novels may have gone on to become bestsellers, do you honestly believe that their content is truly worth even a glance? His novels will never leave such an impression on society as, say, Dante Alighieri or Virgil." He watched from over the rim of his wine glass, as he took a sip while holding her gaze.

"Really, Doctor? Well, please excuse me for declining to read ancient poetry about being tortured in Purgatory and visiting the nine circles of Hell. I honestly can't understand why anyone would pass up such an enjoyable piece of literature," she shot back, with a slight smirk on her face as she drained the last of her wine.

The two of them sat and continued to spar over the issue for some time, Dr. Lecter arguing the importance of Dante's Divina Commedia in the world's society, until it was finally concluded in a draw. Dr. Lecter suggested that it was late and that they should most likely go inside. As they moved to clear the table, Clarice looked up at the sky and saw that there were an infinite amount of stars filling up the night. She stood briefly to look and see if she could find any constellations, but as she stood there under the sky, the stars seemed to be moving and falling into a certain alignment. She remembered the old trick that occurs when one stares at a certain star for too long, the entire sky of stars seem as if they are beginning to move. The effect made her feel slightly detached, but she re-gathered herself quickly and followed Dr. Lecter indoors.

Dr. Lecter led her up the stairs and back to the bedroom where she had awoken hours earlier.

"I believe you have everything you need, Clarice. If there is anything you require, you can find me in the study, down the stairs." He watched her walk into the room, but did not breach the door's threshold.

"Thank you, Doctor."

"Good night, Clarice."

"Good night, Doctor," she replied, as he bowed his head and shut the door behind him as he left.

The wine she had consumed throughout the evening had left her feeling warm and tired, so Clarice quickly dressed in a pair of pajamas and climbed under her large down comforter. Thoughts or concerns about her career or Dr. Lecter seemed far away from her then, as she quickly drifted off to sleep. That night, Clarice's dreams remained silent.


	7. Running

It had been an extended amount of time since Clarice had originally come to stay with the Doctor, although she was unsure of the exact number of weeks, or maybe even months, that she had been there. As for fighting her somewhat unlawful imprisonment, she had inherently given up and surrendered to becoming Dr. Lecter's guest, until the time that he deemed it suitable for her to leave; at which time she told herself that she wouldn't hesitate to bolt out the door, returning to her abandoned life.

She'd spent most of her days lounging in the library, reading a number of the Doctor's books. A large sum of his library was in a foreign language, most notably Italian, French, and Latin, along with many other European languages.

After informing Lecter that she was disappointed in his choice of vernacular and was running out of literature in English to consume, Dr. Lecter informed her that her lessons in speaking Italian would begin with him, later that week. At first she had protested the idea, not wishing for another chance for Dr. Lecter to have the upper-hand and make her feel degraded, once again. However, she found him to be a patient and fair teacher, and realized soon enough that she had an ear for understanding languages. After a short period of time, the two were able to converse, albeit limitedly, in somewhat fluent Italian. He would often throw in phrases of Italian every now and then, to test her. The Doctor was tremendously pleased, however, to find that she was able to speak it back to him, despite a few grammatical errors from time to time. _Ah, but nothing is ever quite perfect._

The Doctor and his guest spent their time together listening to music, cooking, and simply talking. With every step she took, Clarice felt thousands of new doors opening themselves to her, as she listened to and learned from Dr. Lecter. She felt herself becoming more worldly and cultured; the FBI and its tired, endless cups of coffee and paperwork seemed as if in another lifetime. Now, it was glasses of Chateaû d'Yquem and Italian magazines that occupied her, and she felt liberated. Her conversations with the Doctor were provoking and tasteful, and she felt challenged and more alive than she had felt since she had graduated from Quantico so long ago, still a young, bright-eyed woman with an eagerness to find success and advancement. Now she was being given a second chance, as a tired, worn version of her older self. Being in Dr. Lecter's home and by his side lit her up and made her feel more like herself than she had in years.

Dr. Lecter had remained distant, allowing Clarice her own space. Playing the ever observant yet detached onlooker, he watched her attentively during the time that she was with him. Knowing that, eventually, the subject of her "spent" career and her future would resurface and need to be addressed, Dr. Lecter made the decision to remain silent. For now, Clarice was free from burden and untroubled by decisions; the sting of her reality would come, in time. For the time being, however, she was safe in the solitude of his hidden home.

The season had entered late Autumn. Fall in New York was beautiful; the trees in the surrounding forests were on fire with gold, red, and orange foliage. One day in mid-afternoon, Clarice and the Doctor were sitting out on the patio as the Doctor read aloud sonnets, in Italian, from Dante's La Vita Nuova. Clarice sat and listened intently, but soon began to drift off as her own thoughts consumed her.

Lecter finished the passage he had been reading and looked up to find Clarice staring off into the woods.

"Is there something you find disagreeable in Dante's work, Clarice?"

Clarice turned back to face him. "No. I'm sorry, Dr. Lecter. I was just thinking how long it's been since I've gone running."

He studied her for a moment. "Mm, it has, hasn't it."

Although Lecter was able to produce a different side of Ex-Special Agent Starling, he knew that to smother her personality completely would take away the passion and drive within her. He was drawn to that passion. He acknowledged the fact that he would never be able to mold and shape her completely, and that much like himself, she bore her own scars, and came to him with her own framework and history. Not every piece of her was malleable and controllable; he both resented and embraced this, at the same time.

"Would it be suitable if later today I went running back in the woods for awhile?" She asked him with refinement, but her eyes were unquestioning.

He looked at her, amused. "Tell me Clarice, are you so sure of yourself that you really believe you are resourceful enough to find your way on the trails without a map, or some form of guidance? It seems rather reckless, don't you think?"

"Maybe, but if you were to point me in the correct direction, then I'm sure I could find my way by myself," she replied evenly.

"That is rather daring of you, Clarice." She watched him as he leaned back and rested his forearms on the arms of his chair. "I believe your overly assured nature could possibly be the death of you one day. No, what you'll need is a guide, I think. Therefore, I will accompany you on your run later this afternoon. I wouldn't want you to lose your way, or perhaps run away, hmm?" The corners of his mouth twitched slightly, as he watched her. Although Clarice would never become completely predictable to him, he knew her all too well to really believe that she wouldn't seize the opportunity to try to "explore" a little, while she was out.

She looked at him, skeptically. "I didn't plan on running away, Doctor. And if you plan to escort me, then I hope you're prepared to run and keep up with me, because I'm not known to slow down for those who are lagging." She took a sip from her glass of wine.

"Once again, Clarice, I think you may have underestimated me."

"Fine, Dr. Lecter. I'm going to go change into something to run in." She looked critically at his attire, and added "And you might want to do the same."

He chuckled. "Thank you, Clarice, but I was planning to do so." The two of them walked back into the house and up the stairs, where she left him to go change in her bedroom, and he in his own. She found a pair of running shorts and a few suitable t-shirts in one of the drawers, and saw that Lecter had grabbed her running shoes before he left her house. She was overjoyed as she put them on, thinking how liberating it would feel to get outside of the house for awhile.

_But not away from him,_ she thought as she put on the sneakers and headed back downstairs. _He'll be with me; no matter where I go, he will always follow._

She found him waiting for her downstairs in the kitchen. "Shall we go, then?" He asked and she nodded, and he followed her out the door and through the paths of the garden. They walked past the fountain of Venus and the Juniper trees, until they reached the edge of the forest.

"I think we'll take the North path today. It's rained for the past few nights, and I think the lower trails will be far too muddy for us to use." She nodded in submission and followed him up a short hill onto the higher ground. He turned to face her and held his hand out to the open trail, gesturing for her to take the lead. "I'll be right there with you, Clarice."

She nodded, and started out at a slower pace, warming up. They jogged up the trail and through the woods, as orange and red leaves fell silently around them. The intoxicating smell of rotting, damp foliage surrounded them in a wall of bittersweet aroma, and Clarice breathed it in deeply. She wanted to leap for joy down the path but restrained herself, with Lecter running at her side.

He led the two of them deeper into the woods, as she followed him down the trails. The grey sky above them seemed as if it would poor rain at any given moment. Clarice deepened her stride, stretching her legs. She looked over at Dr. Lecter's feet, which seemed to run farther or shorten in stride, in accordance with her own. The sound of their footfalls made one unified beating rhythm on the hardened dirt path, as they began to sprint. Both knew that neither was racing the other; when Clarice ran faster, the Doctor lengthened to keep with her, and when he slowed, she shortened her stride to stay with him. The only sound in the woods that day was the constant and unified sound of their breathing, and the steady pounding of their feet on the forest floor.

They reached the edge of a ravine, where a river ran swirling below them. Dr. Lecter slowed their run to a walk, and the two of them, panting, steadied themselves to catch their breath. Clarice walked over to the edge of the bluff and looked out onto the lower forest floor. The carpet of rich orange and yellow leaves stood out as an emanation against the grey backdrop of opaque clouds and sky. She heard Lecter come closer, and felt him standing next to her. "To stare at something so striking for too long might hurt one's eyes, I think."

"Mm," she murmured in agreement, glancing over at him. He was standing facing the ravine, with his hands clasped behind his back.

"This smaller stream most likely feeds into a larger one, and then continues into the Hudson River, if I'm not mistaken."

She looked back at him with surprise. "So we're in New York?"

He smiled amusedly at her, and nodded. "Yes, we are. An hour's drive North of the city, as a matter of fact."

"I had no idea." She looked back down towards the rushing water, and imagined it flowing out into the powerful waters of the Hudson River. "I've only been to New York City once, actually," she said, sedately.

"Really. And when was that, Clarice?"

She felt him watching her, and took a breath. "It was a little while after graduation from the Academy. Ardelia wanted to celebrate, so she took me up to the city with her for a few days, to shop and have a girl's weekend away. I loved it, there was so much to see and do. I told her I wanted to see a show, or maybe even a ballet, but she wouldn't hear of it. I've always wanted to go back and see the better part of the city though, without having to spend two days' worth of time in either Saks Fifth Avenue or Macy's. I guess indulging and pampering myself aren't really my stronger suits."

"No, they're not, Clarice, but that is what sets you apart from the rest of mankind." He looked at her, with purpose.

Breaking his stare, she looked back down at the water. "It wasn't so bad, it was a nice thing to do with her after Graduation."

"Ah yes, those glorious older days when you still had your entire future set out before you. Whatever happened to those, do you think?"

They were heading into treacherous territory. She squirmed, scrambling for an idea of how to change the subject before it was too late to escape his inevitable questioning, but could think of nothing, so she answered with a short sigh. "I don't know, Dr. Lecter. And I really don't feel the need to dwell on the past and the old days of yester-year, really. I don't see the point."

"Clarice, I think you are _missing_ the point. I wonder why it seems that now, despite your still youthful and lively young age, you seem to feel that you have no future before you."

There was no turning back, and she felt a wall within her cave. There was no use in fighting his probing and blunt questions any longer; she did not have the strength to defend herself from him anymore. "I don't know, Doctor. You're right. I've always been defined by the FBI, even if that has become one of my weaknesses. It has taken everything from me; it's replaced my feelings with determination and my thoughts with dedication. I don't have anything but the Bureau, and my inevitable extrication from being a federal agent makes it seem as if I have nothing at all." She looked up at him. _All honesty, _she thought, _and nothing less. He has to reward you for that, somehow._

But her remarks almost seemed to provoke him, even more so. "Really, Clarice, how pathetic of you to place your entire worth on that God-forsaken system of bureaucracy. It has nothing to give to you, it _never_ did. Like an abusive marriage, your union to the FBI takes everything you have, and gives you nothing in return. What is worse, however, is that you realize this, but feel as if somehow you deserve such a punishment. You have done nothing wrong. It is the unfairness of this world that has abused you, Clarice, not your own inadequacy."

She glared at him; his answer was not only bluntly true and comforting, but at the same time left her at a loss for an answer to her confusion. "So what do I do now, then? I have absolutely nothing else, and I have no idea how to find myself." She looked down at her shoes, in exasperation. A memory echoed in her head. _"I don't believe the answer is on those second-grade shoes, Clarice." _She looked back up at him, feeling as though every thought running through her mind was as visible to him as the bright scene of foliage before them. He infuriated her; he questioned her relentlessly, but never had any answers to give, and she despised him for it. But she knew exactly what to say to push him over the edge.

"You know, you're just like them. The FBI, all of them. All you ever do is take what you want from me; you get your sought-after answers, but then you have nothing to say in return. So what about you, Doctor? What is it that you want? Because I really don't believe you brought me all the way here to your quaint little country estate just to question me about my future. What about your own, what is it that you want?" But Lecter remained silent. He stood there, his eyes beginning to darken in anger, and Clarice felt a current of fear run through her, but it only seemed to push her more. "Oh, but of course, you have nothing to say. You never do; it's all give-and-take with you, just like the bureau. You're a hypocrite, you criticize their methods, but then you use me for your own benefit, just like them. It's sickening." She stood there, glaring at him.

In seconds, he was upon her, tackling her to the ground in an eruption of fury and rage. He pushed her shoulders down, hard into the dirt, and leaned in to hiss in her ear words of toxic poison.

"Clarice, this is the first and only warning I will ever give you; never mistake me for a hypocrite, ever again. And I'm sorry to break this rather troubling news to you, my dear, but it is you that is the hypocrite. Toiling as a federal agent for ten years of your life has taken its toll on you, and you realize this. You are weak and fragile, yet you stay with those corrupt bureaucrats because you are afraid of what other options you might have. You're afraid to be on your own, because you don't know who 'you' are, any longer. And it terrifies you to think, just for one moment, that I, the cannibalistic serial killer, might be the only one who can make any sense of your life, anymore." At this remark she looked up at him in shock, then growled in anger, pushing back against him with all her strength, but was quickly shoved back into the dirt.

"I am not a man who often makes confessions to others, Clarice, and I don't plan to do so, even for you. But you are keen and quick-witted enough to know by now what it is that I want from you." She felt his lips caress her cheek as he whispered his words of true, stinging honesty.

"I have been watching you, Clarice, ever since our earliest meeting, and after the escape from Memphis. You may have not known of my close proximity to you at certain times in your life, but I was there. It is true, I have not been there for everything, but I have come and gone throughout our time apart. However, nothing you have ever done in the past ten years has gone completely unnoticed. But near is the time when you will be presented with a decision to make; I can no longer play the keen observer, Clarice. It is too late for that, and your situation is far too dire for me to simply watch from a distance as you stumble and fall, time and again. And when such a time comes that you will be forced to make that decision, you will have the choice of embracing a part of yourself that you have otherwise suppressed, or you may go on as you were, living recklessly and utterly alone." He drew back from her, allowing her space to absorb his words, but still watching her with such intensity that she found it hard to breathe, yet even harder to look away. He pulled back slowly and gracefully stood. He offered a hand to help her up, as she sat there in the wake of their encounter. "But for now, Clarice, you remain 'off the hook,' so to speak," he said, looking down at her with a chagrined glance. He winked at her as he helped her up, turned her, and brushed the dirt and leaves off of her back.

"You're infuriating, Doctor. I've never met someone who I've wanted to punch so much in my entire life," she said with a scowl, as he turned her to face him.

"Hmm." He smiled at her. "You're ideas of foreplay are maddening, Clarice," he said, giving her that familiar devilish grin, and then turned to walk back in the direction of the house.

"The clouds look a bit unforgiving at this moment, my dear; I think it best if we turn around and head home," he called over his shoulder, beckoning her to follow him. She shook her head in agitation, and then ran up to join him.

Once she reached his side, they walked quietly, leaving the trauma of their struggle behind them to stay on the bluff. Clarice looked up and saw the bleakness of the sky. "I think we should sprint home, Doctor, or we'll get caught in a downpour."

"Right you are, Clarice; lead the way." She took off at a run down the trail, with him following close behind.

They ran for close to half an hour, when finally the house came into view. Just as they reached the edge of the woods, the rain came down in a drenching pour. By the time they made it through the garden and into the kitchen, they were both dripping and soaked to the bone. Clarice felt bare when she realized, looking down, that her soaked white t-shirt left her almost topless before Hannibal Lecter, aside from the sports bra she wore underneath. Lecter went into the linen closet to find them each a towel, and put a pot of tea on to boil. He handed Clarice a mug and sat watching as she dried herself off.

"Tell me, Clarice, what would you think if we went out on somewhat of an excursion this evening?"

She looked up at him as she toweled off her hair. "What do you mean, an 'excursion'?"

"Never ask; it spoils the surprise," he said, wickedly, and winked at her. "Simply join me here at seven o'clock this evening. And please dress in formal wear, I think that would be quite appropriate."

She narrowed her eyes, and then relented. "Fine, but I'm not in the mood for trickery tonight, Doctor."

"No trickery on my part, you have my word," he said, in an honest response.

She left the kitchen and headed towards the hall to go upstairs to her bedroom. With all that they had divulged that day in the woods, she wasn't quite sure that she had it left in her to withstand an evening with Hannibal Lecter. Nevertheless, however, she ran up the stairs to take a bath and to find something to wear to dinner.


	8. Dinner and a Show

Dr. Lecter stands at the marble countertop of his bathroom, adjusting his black silk necktie. He opens the cabinet to his left and takes out a bottle of Italian cologne from the Pharmacia de Santa Maria Novella in Florence. He applies the cologne limitedly and twists the top back onto the bottle. All of his movements are purposeful and coordinated; it seems impossible for him to make a mistake in his precision and accuracy.

Lecter stood thinking about the evening that was laid out before them. In the next room he could hear Clarice moving around as she readied herself for their evening together. What would become of them, by the end of this night? He smiled quietly to himself, knowing that there was absolutely no way of for-seeing Starling's actions or behavior. Clarice was completely unpredictable to him and always would be, regardless of how intimate he became with her.

Lecter strolled out into his open bedroom and flicked on the stereo, allowing Chopin's Raindrop Prelude to fill the air, as he stepped into his shoes and found his jacket while making some final preparations for the evening. Dr. Lecter knew that their night together could very well be either their last together, or the first of many. _Tonight will be the night to end all nights, either way_. He tossed the jacket over his shoulder, used the remote to turn off the speakers, and turned to stroll out the door of his bedroom.

----------------------------------

Clarice sat in her chaise at her vanity, buckling the straps of her heels and applying last minute touches to her upswept hair. She chose to apply very limited makeup; only a dash of grey color on her eyelids and a bit of mascara. Her hair was clipped up, but Clarice was dismayed when, after much struggling, she still was not able to make every piece of hair stay on top of her head; but in the end she relented and allowed the few stray pieces to fall around her face and neck.

The dress she had found in her boudoir was a long evening gown. It was simple; silk, strapless, and a deep, emerald-sapphire color. The dress clung to her every curve; she felt more elegant and sophisticated than she had ever before. Being in the presence of Dr. Lecter seemed to have that effect on her.

She grabbed a small purse and jacket before switching off the lights to her bedroom and then heading towards the stairs. _Somehow, this night is significant_, she thought, as she walked down the steps. She breathed in deeply when she saw Dr. Lecter standing by the fireplace, waiting for her.

He turned to face her but said nothing, his mouth parting slightly as he took in her full form.

She stood on the bottom stair, steadying herself by resting her hand on the banister. His arms hung limply at his sides, and the moment seemed to stretch out before them. "Clarice, words fail me at the moment," he finally said, still taking in her vision.

She laughed lightly. "Well, we should make a point to document this somehow, because that must be a first," she said with a nervous smile, walking off the step to join him in the study.

He did not reply, but walked over to her side, and reached out to grasp her hand and place a light kiss there. Waves of electric shock flowed through her as his lips brushed over the tops of her knuckles. "As long as I live, I will always remember you as you are tonight," he said softly, still holding her hand.

She couldn't find it within her to reply or smile back. She simply looked back at him, and the distance between them suddenly seemed very small. But Dr. Lecter broke the connection by releasing her hand, and sighing. "Well then, I believe we should get a move on if we plan to make it in time for our reservations."

"Hmm, and what would those reservations be?" She asked slyly.

He shook his head with a small grin. "You know better than to ask me that. Shall we go?" He extended his arm for her, which she took hold of as they left the house to head out towards the car. Lecter led her to the passenger side door and opened it for her, and then climbed into the driver's seat.

They drove down a long driveway until they reached a main road, which still seemed to be in the middle of the woods but soon connected to the thruway heading South towards the city. Their conversation in the car was light-hearted and pleasant, and Clarice felt better than she had in weeks.

After about an hour's drive, the Jaguar pulled into downtown Manhattan and stopped outside a theatre. A valet took the car from Dr. Lecter, and the two then went inside. When they entered the front hall Clarice looked around, taking in the grandeur of the marble and gold-leafed stencil work of the theatre. To her, it looked like nothing short of a palace.

The pair was escorted up to a private balcony by an usher. Clarice quickly noticed that wherever they were Dr. Lecter was able to find some way to either be close to her or touch her. When walking up the steps into the theatre he had gently placed his hand on the small of her back, guiding her as they walked through the front doors. And once they had reached the balcony, Dr. Lecter had taken off Clarice's jacket for her while letting his hand follow the contours of her shoulder and then lightly trace down her arms, feeling the softness of her exposed skin. The touch did not go unnoticed, and sent a series of riveting chills down the base of her spine. Dr. Lecter sensed the waves of pleasure ripple through her.

The two sat as the crowd below them wandered in to the theatre, searching for their seats. Clarice felt very safe and sheltered up in her seat, high above the mass of people below her. Dr. Lecter quietly leaned in to whisper in her ear. "I hope you enjoy the theatre, Clarice, but I hope I was not too presumptuous in believing you would. The opera is entitled "L'Orfeo," I'm sure you have heard of it."

Clarice nodded softly. L'Orfeo was based upon the Greek myth of Orpheus and his lost love, Eurydice, who was taken from him to the underworld. Clarice couldn't help but think that, somehow, there was some sort of coincidence between the theme of the possibility of lost love and her current situation. _Damn him for choosing this play_, she thought bitterly. But she was left with no time to think, as the lights in the house dimmed and Lecter handed her a pair of opera glasses, showing her how to use them. Then the curtain rose and the show began.

Throughout the entire performance Clarice sat and watched intently, completely absorbed in the story. Many times throughout the show she felt Lecter watching her, as she sat looking down on the stage below her. During the scene where Orpheus lost Eurydice to the underworld for the last time, Clarice's hand covered her mouth as she watched in angst. The closing scene caused tears to form in the corners of her eyes, and one managed to escape and roll slowly down her face. As they stood for the final applause, Lecter turned to face her and held her face in his hands as he wiped away the single tear, letting his hands remain cupping her face and softly caressing her cheekbone with his thumb, as he whispered "Shh" to comfort her. Her eyes softened at his touch and her hand traveled up to cover his own, but the moment slowly came to an end as the lights of the theatre came back on and the crowd below rose to leave. Lecter gave her a soft smile, and suggested that they should head down the stairs to claim their car and make their way to the restaurant. She nodded quietly, and he guided her down into the hall and out to the front of the theatre. The valet pulled up with the car and the pair drove a few blocks to a high-scale restaurant. They were seated at a reserved, smaller table in a more quiet section of the restaurant. Clarice thought it looked like a scene out of the Great Gatsby, with the many dressed up couples, and the soft candlelight and quiet, elegant music. The mood was set, and the tension in the air was palpable to both of them. Clarice could tell that Lecter had planned this setting for them, and was sure that his comforting nature at the opera probably would not last the entire night; he enjoyed pushing her, and she was prepared for whatever might lie ahead.

"I have no idea what to order," Clarice remarked as she searched the menu. All the items looked delicious, and she couldn't make up her mind.

"Hmm. Well, Clarice, may I suggest the lamb? It sounds enticing, don't you agree?" He looked at her from above his menu, but remained completely calm and unreadable.

"Well, I'd love to try the lamb, Doctor, but only if you agree to try the side dish of 'Go to Hell," she replied sweetly, smiling at him.

He laughed softly. "Oh my dear, I don't mean to anger you, it's only all in fun. Do you remember what I told you, all those years ago?"

"That I need to get more fun out of life," she replied, without missing a beat.

"Very good, I'm glad to see that you've remembered all of our conversations as thoroughly as I have."

"'Interrogations' would be more fitting a description I think, Doctor. You coerced me into telling you very private information, in return for clues about something that did not even remotely concern you. I think it quite obvious that you gained the upper hand from the very beginning since you were in the position to learn quite a bit about me, while I still have no insight into what you are thinking."

"Of course you are right, Clarice. But I am not what you call an 'open book,' so to speak. I don't feel the need for the rest of the world to know what is on my agenda or what it is that I want."

"Yes, well in some cases, wouldn't you agree that in order to obtain that which you hope to gain, you have to make your intentions clear?" She asked, agitatedly.

"Yes, in some cases, I do believe so." He then leaned in towards her, away from the back of his chair, and lowered his tone quietly. "Yet while many of my wants and desires are implied, Clarice, I think they should be quite obvious to you."

His words were subtle, but dripping with insinuation. Clarice's eyes widened as his words caressed her; she felt her entire body go hot at the implications in his tone. But the moment was broken when their waiter abruptly appeared to take their orders.

For the rest of the evening Lecter remained courteous and calm, keeping the conversation light as the two enjoyed their meal. The evening flew by quickly, and soon the Doctor had paid the check and stood with Clarice to leave. He escorted her out of the restaurant to the front, where a valet was waiting with the Jaguar. But instead of moving to the car, Lecter stopped her underneath the awning that sheltered the front of the restaurant. Clarice noticed that it had begun to rain.

"What are we doing? Why aren't we getting in the car?"

"If you'll notice, Clarice, there are two cars parked here. There is my car, but I have arranged for an alternate way of transportation for you, should you decide to use it." He nodded in the direction of a dark sedan, parked ahead of the Jaguar. "I have decided that you are no longer in need of my assistance, and I am now allowing you to leave if you wish to do so. The man who is driving this car will take you anywhere you wish to go; whether it be to home in Arlington and back to the FBI, or to the nearest police department, it does not matter. However, once you leave here, then you have my word that I will never make an attempt to contact or visit you again. I will leave your life permanently, if that is what you truly wish. On the other hand, however, you have the option staying with me. But this is my final offer, Clarice, and the time is now for you to make your decision."

She stood there looking at him, speechless and utterly lost.

"I…I don't know what I want, Doctor."

"Yes you do. Truthfully, you have known all along. The question is whether you are brave enough to face the truth."

She stared at him blankly, then shut her eyes tightly, trying to block out his face and his voice, as she ran her hands through her hair and down to cover her face. He stood there motionless, leaving her room to think and contemplate, to weigh and to measure.

After a short time she slowly opened her eyes, but refused to look him in the face. She focused on her shoes and the ground below her, trying to will it to steady and stop spinning beneath her. She shook her head, and said quietly "I can't do this." She looked up into his face, but found it difficult to breathe when she looked him in the eye. "I don't know how to do this, Doctor."

He grasped her at her shoulders and leaned in towards her face. "Yes, you do, Clarice," he whispered fiercely.

She shook her head violently and backed away, out from under the awning where she stood and into the downpour of water. A curtain of rain protected her like a comfortable boundary between herself and Lecter's maddening gaze. Her lovely emerald dress turned a deep shade of green as the rain soaked her, and pieces of her hair fell down and around her face. She turned to walk towards the sedan, but when she reached the door she could not bring herself to open it. She banged her fist on the car in her frustration and threw her head back, up towards the black sky, crying tears of confusion and resentment. She rested her palms on the top of the car and laid her head down, trying to breathe. She knew exactly what she wanted; she wanted to be with the man who was standing back underneath the safety and dryness of the awning. All she wanted was to turn around and run back to him, and follow him to their car to go home, safe from the rest of the unforgiving world. But she didn't know how to let go; how could she let go? Her father and Jack Crawford and Pearsall and Ardelia all stood there, watching the conflicting battle in her mind taking place, quietly shaking their heads in their disapproval. She was surrounded by a crowd of empty faces who wouldn't help her, as she drowned in her own regret and denial.

But just as she felt herself sinking in the crowd, a hand reached out of the crowd and pulled her up off her knees. Dr. Lecter helped her stand and quietly calmed her, smiling at her as he embraced her in the warmth and comfort of his arms. And then she felt all of her walls crumble and the earth shatter, and then reassemble itself in the eyes of one man who, in that moment, would become her entire existence.

Slowly she began to drift back to reality, with the car humming underneath her hands. She opened her eyes and raised her head, breathing in the damp night air. She turned to face Lecter and took a few short steps towards him, but found that she could not close the distance. He came out into the rain to meet her, and stopped a short foot away.

"Have you decided, Clarice?" He asked softly, but already knew her answer.

She nodded in her weariness and defeat, as tears rolled down her face. She looked into his eyes and was terrified, but felt the universe shifting with the weight of her decision to comply with her true wants and desires, to finally fulfill what she needed. "Take me home with you, Doctor."

He smiled softly as he gently reached out to move a strand of her hair that was plastered to her face and nodded. He guided her back to the solitude and warmth of the Jaguar, where she sat seated in the solitude of the car as he raced around the front to get into the driver's seat. As the rain continued to pour upon the city, the couple quickly collected themselves and drove away from the restaurant towards home.


	9. Alignment and Fin

The drive home from the city seemed to stretch on forever. Clarice sat staring out into the darkness that surrounded the car, remaining completely still. The only sound that permeated the silence was the constant fall of rain on the windshield. She had calmed herself enough to cease from crying, but inside she was still screaming and kicking herself for making her choice. Clearly, it was the complete and unforgiving truth that she wanted him. There was no one else whom she cared for and generally liked more than him. But she was betraying so much; her father, her morals, the FBI. The list of unforgivable sins she was committing went on and on. But she hadn't been able to make herself leave him or make the choice to extract him from her life forever. She was so deeply attracted to him but it still terrified her to believe that she wanted him, wanted to be with him. There had been so many instances in the past months when she had just wanted to throw him against the wall, either out of frustration or pure, dark desire, and cover his mouth with her own. But it was wrong to her and contradicted everything she knew, and she didn't know how to take the next step forward.

Lecter sensed her turmoil, and allowed her to remain silent without prying for answers. After a long and tiresome drive, they finally reached the house and parked in the driveway. Clarice quickly got out of the car and headed towards the front door, clearly trying to avoid him and his inevitable questions. She knew that he had been generous enough to give the ride home to herself, but that by the end of the night he wouldn't leave anything to remain unsaid. She entered the front door and was headed towards the stairs, but heard him close behind her.

"Clarice." He shouted after her, his tone commanding her to stop, but she ignored him and kept going. She soon felt him close behind her when she was almost to the stairs, and was pulled by her arm and twisted around to face him. He grabbed her by the shoulders and battled with her as she fought to escape his grasp, but he quickly overwhelmed her with his strength and shoved her roughly into the wall.

"What the hell do you want from me? I can't do this tonight, I can't give you answers!" Her eyes begged for sympathy, but found none in the gravity of his face.

"No Clarice, we will talk _now_." He emphasized the 'now,' as he stared penetratingly into her eyes. "You made your decision, and I want to know why."

"What do you mean, 'why', Dr. Lecter? You've won, I am staying here with you willingly. I hate the FBI for what it's done to me, and I'd rather be here with you, what more is there to say?"

"Nothing more than the truth," he replied calmly. "Why would you rather be here with me?"

Her eyes sank at this question in utter defeat. She was cornered. "I can't answer that," she whispered, looking down.

"Yes you can."

She looked up at him, and something in his voice pushed her over the edge. "Because, without you, my life doesn't make any sense. You're the only one who can make it seem worthwhile, and I can't help it if that makes me want you." She breathed heavily, and her fear and hesitation were almost tangible. The doctor said nothing and it angered her deeply, helping her to find the courage within herself to look up. "But so what, the only reason you want to keep me here is because I'm like some sort of god damned play-thing for you. The only purpose I have is so that you can toss me around, mind-fuck me a little, and take every piece of me that you can get a hold of. It's the most infuriating thing I've ever seen," she said, glaring at his calm and collected gaze.

He sighed deeply, caressing her arms softly. "Oh Clarice. For a woman of such intelligence and wit, you have such a tendency to misjudge and over-analyze."

"Well, if that's all you have to say, I'm going up to bed because I can't do this anymore. I'm sick of it," she said as she pushed forward to head up the stairs. But Lecter quickly whipped her back against the wall, using his body weight to pin her there as he whispered menacingly into her ear. "I wasn't finished yet, Clarice."

"What do you want?" She cried in desperation, squirming as she tried to free herself.

"It is vulgar to me that you truly believe that you are merely my 'play-thing.' You are so much more than that, and I think it's time I show you. You have no idea of the true beauty and grace that you are," he murmured, his lips tracing her lower jaw as he spoke. "I resented you for years Clarice, because of the weakness that you are to me. But even still, I have hungered…" He kissed the contours of her neck, punctuating each word, "…and ached…," his lips continued to trace her jaw, "…and desired…," his mouth moved to kiss her shoulder, nipping her with his teeth, "…and wanted you… for far too long… for this night to end here."

She felt her knees give with each touch of his mouth upon her skin and laid her head back against the wall, breathing deeply. "And as far as 'mind-fucking' is concerned …" He raised his head to whisper in her ear once more, "…you are the best I've ever had." He caught her earlobe in his teeth, suckling. She clenched her teeth and shut her eyes, as a sensation of pleasure overtook her body.

He pulled back to look her in the face. She stared at him, her eyes heavy with passion. She thought of her old life and the FBI fleetingly, but it quickly passed out of her mind for the last time. She groaned and gave in to him, pulling the back of his head towards and locking his lips with her own. His mouth covered hers, absorbing her and taking her in completely. The sensation of feeling his mouth on hers almost overwhelmed her, and she had to use the wall behind her to support herself. As the kiss deepened his hands circled her waist and back, tracing her spine and pulling her closer to him. She whimpered as she felt his body pressing against hers and felt herself becoming rapidly lost.

He broke the kiss, breathing heavily. "Upstairs, now," he commanded, and he pulled her quickly up to the bedroom hallway. She looked towards her room but the Doctor led her into his own, grasping her by her arm and pulling her to the bed. The bedroom was nothing short of what she had imagined; the bed was covered in black, silk sheets and the carpet and curtains were a rich, deep burgundy.

He stood with her next to the bed, kissing her neck and collarbone as he lowered the straps of her dress off her shoulders and unzipped the back. His hands trailed lightly over her exposed back, sending chills up and down her spine. He reached back up to touch her hair and release the clasp that held it up off her neck, letting the loose strands fall down around her shoulders. Her body was heaving with waves of desire, and at that moment all she could think of was how badly she needed him.

"There will be no turning back after this, Clarice." He looked deeply into her eyes for a sign of recognition.

She nodded and said "I know."

He finished the zipper and let the dress fall in a pool of silk around her feet, leaving her exposed to him. He hummed in approval, taking in her full form. She quickly grabbed his waist and pulled him to her as she began to unbutton his shirt. But her maddening desire for him obstructed her movements as she fumbled with the buttons, so he reached up to still her hands and finished unbuttoning the last few himself. She tore the shirt off him hastily and then reached to undo his belt and zipper, making her desire for him clear as she pulled his pants and boxers down to his feet. He stepped forward and pushed her down onto the bed, not as gently as he had meant to, but he quickly decided that delicacy that night was out of the question; they both had hungers to fulfill and be sated, and hesitancy would simply be impossible.

She fell back against the pillows and reached up, grabbing at him and pulling him down to kiss him passionately, as she ran her hands frantically all over his naked chest and shoulders, trying to explore and memorize every curve and muscle of his body. He lowered his face to her chest, kissing her slowly as he bent to find one of her nipples with his mouth, reaching to grasp the other with his hand. Clarice moaned, her fingers digging into his shoulders as his hand continued to fondle her breasts, his lips moving down over her stomach. He let his hands trace the insides of her thighs and then enter her, exploring her as he moved in and out, fucking her with his fingers.

She moaned uncontrollably as his thumb circled her clitoris, his other two fingers continuing to move in and out of her, faster and faster until she cried out as the waves of pleasure overtook her.

She moaned as she slowly climaxed, his fingers continuing to move rapidly in and out. She gripped his shoulders and held on as the waves overtook her, and Lecter watched in fascination. He smiled at the way he was able to play her body like an instrument, creating reaction after reaction to his simple yet deliberate movements.

After her orgasm had passed he pulled himself forward where he captured her mouth in a penetrating, burning kiss. She grasped his face with her hands and ran her fingers through his hair, as she wrapped her legs around his waist, undulating her hips against his. He pushed his body against hers, creating friction as his erection hardened and demanded for release.

"Doctor, please…" she whimpered, as his mouth wandered back down to kiss her breasts. His body ached for her and he knew that his boundaries of patience were being pressed entirely too far. He positioned himself to enter her and then pushed, penetrating her deeply and making her gasp as she clutched the back of his neck. He stilled himself for a moment, then began to pull back and push into her, even harder.

"Doctor…" she murmured, clutching him as their bodies moved in increasing speed. "…Deeper, please…"

He thrust himself into her as deep as he could possibly enter, and he felt her muscles clench around him, pulling him into her. She whimpered as their bodies rocked together and waves of pleasure coursed through her body. Moments later he was lost in her orgasm as the walls of her vagina clenched around him, pulling him so hard that he too could no longer hold back and felt himself release within her, calling her name repeatedly as he lost complete control and climaxed with her. They continued to move together as their pleasure overtook them and carried them high above reality and past their boundaries of control. They rocked together until the waves subsided as they floated back down to earth, laying in the bed where their bodies remaining entangled, breathing heavily.

Finally, Dr. Lecter was able to extract himself from her after regaining his composure, and rolled off of her to lay on his back. They laid there quietly for some time, until he finally turned his head to look at her. She looked back at him, smiled, and murmured softly, "Hannibal," as she gently reached out to touch his face.

"Clarice." He said, reveling in the sound of his name on her lips. "How do you feel?"

She locked her gaze with his and simply said, "Home." She smiled at him and he nodded in agreement. He reached out to pull her to him so that she came to rest within the comfort of his arms, her head resting on his chest. And after an extended time of laying there with her, he looked down only to find that she had fallen asleep in his arms. He softly stroked her hair as he closed his eyes, feeling that he too, had finally found his way home.

And outside in the cold, autumn night, high above the house and the trees, the stars in the heavens continued to move and circle in movement until they found their final place of alignment in the night sky.

-Fin-


End file.
